From the Depths
by monsterXmash
Summary: Before going off to war, the Queen of the Southron Realm seeks an alliance with the Young Wolf. :::Robb Stark/OFC::: Rated "T" for now.


**From the Depths**

Chapter 1: _The Queen's Hand**  
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_A mermaid found a swimming lad,  
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_Picked him for her own,  
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_Pressed her body to his body,  
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_Laughed; and plunging down,_

_Forgot in cruel happiness_

_That even lovers drown._

- Wiliam Butler Yeats -_  
_

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The Southron Queen arrived at midday with a rainbow fleet of bright banners. Each ship bore her family's sigil - a spear wielding merman amidst a sea of blue - but flew their own flag. Robb Stark recognized the purple ouroboros of the Calders, the Acker's orange and gold phoenix, the teal serpent of the Crosswells, all billowing in the tepid breeze as their vessels crept closer and closer toward the coast.

Deyona Dumont was the first to reach the dock, and the Southron Queen was as Robb remembered her. Her eyes were still dark, hair even darker, her skin a sun-kissed freckled bronze. Her wide trousers gave the illusion of skirts, a bright but delicate green sandsilk wrapped at the waist with a shining threaded silver sash. Her shirt, a flowing jade chiffon, was bisected crossways by a leather strap that held her scabbered sword behind her back in true southron custom. Upon her brow she wore a crown, fashioned from silver and sea-gemmed in various shades of sapphire and emerald and aquamarine.

She arrived with none of the pageantry that Robb was expecting. She did not even wait for her escorts to unload their ships, but walked with long, leisurely strides toward those who stood in wait. The Winterfell lord glanced at the sky behind her; not but moments ago it looked as though it was going to rain, but now the sun seemed to seek the girl out, guiding her path until finally she stopped in front of the small assembly. They all bowed, but the Queen bid them to stand, and greeted Catelyn Stark first with a kiss upon the cheek.

"My Queen," said the Stark woman, though the words had to fight their way through clenched teeth. Her smile was beautifully forced, a convincing visage of geniality, but Deyona knew better. And she did not care. She had come only for Robb, to steal him away and bring him into war, and she did not need his mother's permission to do so.

The southron girl kissed Catelyn's other cheek. "My Lady."

Deyona turned next to Edmure Tully, the man who would be Lord of Riverrun, and allowed him to take her hand in salutation. "Your presence honors us," he told her and placed his lips upon her knuckles.

She smiled and withdrew her hand from his, placing it on his leather clad shoulder. "Your invitation is the greater honor."

Robb Stark stood beside his uncle, now a man grown and Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North. He was a whole head taller than the Queen and undeniably handsome, with dark auburn hair, thick and curled, and bright blue eyes that shone almost clear in the sunlight. Red-brown whiskers grew from his jaw, not quite as thick as his uncle's, but giving him the appearance of a Tully all the same.

_Robb_, the girl almost sighed, but found her voice before she could and greeted him properly. "Lord Stark, time has passed slowly since I saw you last." They both smiled and embraced and that simple touch was almost too much. With her father now gone, her mother long since dead, and no brothers nor sisters, Deyona had been alone since she came to wear the southron crown, and Robb was so familiar. His scent was one he had always carried - of leather and burning wood - what she imagined to be the smell of warmth in the midst of winter. The girl's smile faltered when her face was hidden in the man's shoulder, but when she pulled back it was there again.

"Come, Robb, let us talk."

The two left Catelyn and Edmure behind, and out on the dock, Deyona's men were unloading their ships. The vessels were few that the Queen brought with her - them having to travel inconspicuously up the Western Sea, past Lannisport, and into the Ironman's Bay - and the trip from the shore to Riverrun was a relatively short one. The others could go on without them, Lord Robb would be the Queen's escort.

"Your mother has never liked me," Deyona said to her companion when she was sure that the woman could not hear her. She shook her head but smiled. "And she hides it terribly."

Robb placed a gentle hand on the Queen's shoulder. "My lady mother has called on all of the Tully's bannermen at your request," he reminded the girl. "And I have done the same. The whole of the North and the Riverlands are at your command, your grace."

Her smiled broadened. "As are the Fairfield Isles, the Southlands below High Garden, and all the ships off of the western shore," she said with a swaggering confidence. "But I did not come all this way to boast." She looked down at the sand below her feet, and the two walked in silence until the girl spoke again. "I have already asked so much of you, but I must ask for more."

"You need only name it."

Deyona stopped, and Robb along with her. She sighed and stared off silently into the distance, where blue-green waves met blue-orange sky, and she lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun.

"Have you wondered where the heroes have gone?" she asked, still looking out towards a place that seemed far beyond the powers of her sight. "Sure, the folk sing of the valor of men - of Robert Baratheon's strong hammer. Of my father's swift ax. But they are dead. Lord Eddard is all that is left. Who now stands to gain the glory?"

She turned and stared at the lord, but he said nothing in return. For a moment she was angry that he didn't understand, and then, just as quickly, she wasn't. She remembered that Starks were born with winter in their bones and made much too frigid for songs. But tales were already being told of the Young Wolf, ones that have found their way down even to her southron keep.

"Us," Deyona continued. "It is our turn."

Still, Robb said nothing, but continued to look at her with his stone face and sharp eyes. _Yes, the Young Wolf._ She wanted to turn away. Under his scrutiny she felt a child again, as if she was playing battle with a wooden sword instead of fighting a real war; as if the silver crown upon her head no more than a woven flower wreath. She took it off, and held it in her hand.

"Domic Dumont was an ambitious man," she said, staring down at the jewels that caught the light so brilliantly, "there is no denying that. He saw an opportunity and he took it. And I am left to finish what he started." When she looked back up, Robb was closer than he was before. Bigger, he seemed, or maybe she had shrunk under his gaze. But she raised her shoulders and met his eye, and when she spoke again her voice held a new sense of conviction. "He had no claim to the Iron Throne and I was not born to be Queen. It is not in my blood, but a Queen I am. And that is why I need you, Robb. I need you with me, to be my Hand."

The stone cracked and the lord stared at Deyona in surprise. He had known that the Southron Queen wanted an alliance with the North, and he agreed wholeheartedly. She began to send ravens to him as soon as she came to wear the crown, sending him tales of raids that burned and ravished the Southlands, of rapes and murders, of the day that the Kingslayer killed another king, and finally, of promises to retrieve Lord Eddard and his daughters from the capital. He had known that the Queen needed him - to command the northern army, maybe, or to be a part of her Queensguard - but never had he expected this.

"You're my oldest friend," Deyona said when Robb could not find the words to speak. She dropped her crown carelessly in the sand and stepped closer to the man, gently fisting the front of his shirt. For a moment she only stood there, head tilted back so she may look into his eyes, the light behind him framing his face, surrounding his auburn hair with a soft red glow, and then again she spoke. "I trust you like no other. I love you like no other. Who else but you?"

Robb cupped his hands over hers, holding them against his chest. "My father was Hand of the King."

"I know," Deyona replied. "To the dismay of mine. If your father would have been at Dumont's side as he wanted, perhaps... perhaps things would be different now." The Queen pressed forward, so close that their hands were trapped between them, and the young lord could faintly feel her soft breath on his neck. "An alliance between Dumont and Stark again. What say you, Robb?"

The briny air was held in her lungs as she waited, the grip she had on his shirt tightening. In the bright light of the sun the lord could see that the dark depths staring at him were truly green, her cheeks were flushed a ruddy pink, and her brows were furrowed in anticipation. He went to bend his knee, but she kept him up. "Do not bow to me, Robb. Stand by my side. I cannot do this alone."

The man moved his hand and clasped the girl behind the neck, enclosing his fingers around thick black curls. _Is it improper for a lord to touch a Queen in such a way? _He didn't care. "It would be an honor, your grace."

The girl smiled, raising herself to place a kiss on Robb's lips, and he could taste the spray of sea salt that still lingered on her own. "A Southron Queen with a Hand from the North," she said and moved from his grasp. She retrieved her crown from the sand and the two began walking back from whence they came. "What songs of us they will sing."

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**Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you think :)**


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